


High Hope for a Low Heaven

by teprometo



Category: Merlin (TV) RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Felching, First Time, Intoxication, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teprometo/pseuds/teprometo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amidst the laughter, confusion, and insatiable hunger of being high, Bradley and Colin find themselves alone, aroused, and absolutely fucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Hope for a Low Heaven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sorrylatenew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylatenew/gifts).



> Written for [Perverse Bang](http://perverse-bang.livejournal.com/) based on [this prompt](http://perverse-bang.livejournal.com/939.html?thread=39851#t39851):
>
>> Merlin/Arthur or Bradley/Colin. Recreational drug use (not drug addiction) and sloppy, slurred under-the-influence sex. Include rimming and barebacking with felching afterwards and, well, yes.
> 
> I know [sorrylatenew](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylatenew) well enough by now to recognize her even through an anon shield (she gave me permission to out her), and her prompt also happened to be the most inspiring for me—as usual. So this, as many of my other fics, is dedicated to her.
> 
> Many thanks to [brunettepet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brunettepet) for the beta.
> 
> Title from Shakespeare’s _Love’s Labour’s Lost_. If you think I need additional content notes, let me know.

Colin’s eyes are squinted shut tight, his chest heaving as he struggles to hold his breath. He shudders out a mouthful of smoke, and the way it curls over his lips is mesmerising until he starts coughing. A few tears leak down his face as he hacks, and Bradley must be well stoned, because he finds the violent, raucous shaking of Colin’s body … _cute_. When Angel coughed just a minute ago, Bradley rolled his eyes and disparaged her with a, “Can’t hold your smoke, mate?”

Colin is still wheezing slightly when he pries his back off the armoire and leans forward to hand Bradley the glass pipe, a stout, brown thing that Katie swears by. Their fingers graze as Bradley takes it from him and settles back against the bed. He plucks up the lighter from where it rests on the floor between Katie and himself and presses the flame to the mostly spent bowl. Releasing the choke and inhaling deep, the smoke goes down rough and too hot, and Bradley grimaces around it.

Colin watches him with red eyes, lips twitching with amusement, and Bradley loses track of what’s happening. He’s vaguely aware that Katie has taken the pipe from him, and he thinks she’s talking, but he can’t figure out how to make his brain listen, so he just swings his head in her direction and stares at the movement of her lips, confused and fucking _hungry_.

“I want crisps,” Angel whines from where she’s lying on the floor, her feet buried under Colin’s thigh. “Why’d we do this in Bradley’s room? Bugger never has any food.”

“Yeah, _Katie,_ ” Bradley accuses. “Why did we do this in Bradley’s room?”

Katie swats at his leg, but it lacks her usual force. “Because Angel and I won’t be able to fit in our costumes if we gain weight the way you do, Bradders.”

Bradley closes his eyes and hums, considers telling her that a little pudge is necessary to build muscle, but that seems like a lot of work, so he just rests his head back on the bed and stretches his legs out, brushing Colin’s knee with a foot and daring to keep it there. Angel’s laughter rings through the room again, and she says, “Katie. Katie, your _face._ ”

Bradley looks over, but Katie’s face looks like it always does: pretty in that pale Irish way Bradley won’t admit he’s particularly fond of. Angel crawls over to Katie and lies down on her back, resting her head in Katie’s lap and looking up at her. Katie takes off her glasses and leans down close to Angel, and the two erupt into almost violent laughter.

Bradley glances at Colin, wondering if Colin would let him crawl into his lap and stare up at him, though admittedly, he’d rather be face-down, nose buried in the crotch of Colin’s jeans, trying to suck in the scent of his sex. But Colin is staring at the ceiling, hand rubbing over the stubble on his chin, and Bradley wonders what it feels like to be him, to be high and touching himself in that way that’s always more intense for people who don’t smoke as often as Bradley does.

The girls’ laughter calms as Bradley stares at Colin, and when he glances back over to them, Katie is scratching through Angel’s hair, letting her doze in her lap. Angel giggles and mutters something inane and adorable every so often, but otherwise, the room is quiet, everyone lost in some musing or another.

The shared silence is pleasant, and when Bradley hears the crinkle of a plastic bag, he thinks it might be overkill, judging by the way Angel starts giggling helplessly into her elbow. But Colin is still just sitting there with a small wry smile, and Bradley wants to see him lose his shit just a little bit, so when Katie offers up the green hit, he gives it to Colin.

As Colin touches flame to bud, Bradley notices his thumb isn’t on the choke, so he leans forward and covers it for him. Instead of moving his own digit to take up the task, Colin drops his hand to his lap, leaving Bradley holding the pipe to his lips, puffy and soft-looking as he pulls smoke from the chamber into his mouth. Bradley moves his thumb and nods, and Colin watches his eyes as he inhales. Bradley feels a bit breathless as he scrambles to press the pipe to his own mouth, wanting the taste of Colin and getting only the musky sweetness of the weed. Colin doesn’t exhale until Bradley’s already sucked in a lungful, and he wipes his lips and smirks when he doesn’t cough a bit.

Bradley takes one more long hit and then passes the pipe to Katie, who he thinks is finishing the bowl on her own. Angel is smiling and staring at the ceiling, her head tilting from side to side where it still rests in Katie’s lap, and Colin has a totally, sinfully blissed-out look on his face. Bradley could stand more, could handle it, but he’s enjoying watching Colin come undone a little too much to lose himself as well.

* * *

This had all been Katie’s idea anyway. She bounced into his room earlier today with a conspiratorial glance and told him to frisk her. He rolled his eyes but dug into her pocket and found the bag, a one-ouncer from the looks of it.

“Ambitious,” he said, slipping it back into her coat. “I see you’ve got your weekend plans settled.”

Katie stuck out her tongue. “It’s for the four of us, idiot. We haven’t all had a break like this in ages, and I figured we could stand to unwind.”

Bradley guffawed and shook his head. “And you think you can convince Angel and Colin? Pure, angelic, virginal Angel? Professional and … Catholic Colin?”

Katie waved a finger in front of his face, looking smug. “Angel’s already agreed. I just need your charms to get our Catholic rogue to make it a foursome.”

“Kinky,” Bradley said, waggling his eyebrows, and Katie swatted him on the shoulder.

“I want to do it tonight so Colin has two whole days to recover. Which means we need to go ask now.” Katie grabbed his sleeve and marched off towards the door, and Bradley followed, preparing himself for the inevitable “no” that awaited them at Colin’s door.

Except Colin didn’t say no. He didn’t actually say anything, just shrugged and nodded when Katie said, “Bradley’s room. Ten o’clock.”

“My room?” Bradley said, affronted, as Katie trotted away from Colin’s door.

“I bought,” Katie said, turning halfway. “The least you can do is host.”

“The least I can do is nothing,” Bradley muttered, slipping back into his room and relishing the fleeting bliss of the clean air.

* * *

Watching Colin now makes Bradley forget all about the inconvenience of having to launder absolutely everything in his room, because Colin’s eyes have gone soft and glassy, and his lips keep pursing and unpursing, like he’s talking to himself in his head, and Bradley wonders what he’s saying. Angel’s sudden laughter cuts through the fog of Colin, and Bradley looks down at her.

“I’ve got liquorice allsorts in my room,” she says, her voice deep and conspiratorial and unsettlingly sexy.

“Oh, my queen,” Katie moans and plucks up Angel’s hand to kiss it reverently.

Colin bursts into laughter, and it takes him a solid two minutes to get out the complete thought of: “Those are terrible.” And though Bradley actually rather enjoys them, he can’t tear his attention away from Colin’s smile.

“The worst,” he says eventually, and his voice comes out all besotted and embarrassing. He sort of wants to slap the grin off of Katie’s face, but he’s not keen on violence, so he resists.

“More for us,” Katie says, sliding Angel’s head out of her lap. She _oomphs_ as she stands, then does a ridiculous little dance, all stomping feet and flailing arms, and Bradley supposes it’s to ensure she’s steady enough on her feet to support Angel, who does not seem capable of independent movement.

As they make their way to the door, Angel does more leaning than standing, saying, “Bloody delicious little bastards, and all for us.”

“Hear that?” Katie says as she swings the door open and helps Angel through. “All for us. Good luck, gentlemen.”

Colin doesn’t look at the door until several seconds after it’s closed. “Did they just leave?” he says as though genuinely curious, and Bradley nods. “Did they just fucking leave?” Colin repeats, punctuated by high-pitched laughter. His head falls back against the armoire, leaving his long neck exposed, and Bradley wants to drag his tongue hard over the stubble there.

He groans and buries his face in his hands, because he doesn’t think about Colin like this. He just _doesn’t_. He notices that Colin is gorgeous and funny and kind and so bloody talented it makes him breathless, but he doesn’t think about fucking him. And yet here Colin is with his shirt bunched up and his jeans riding low, and Bradley wants to kiss down that line of dark hair on his abdomen. He wonders if Colin would let him, if he’s fucked up enough to let Bradley slide down his pants and lick him hard, suck him to orgasm. If he could even come this high, which Bradley can, as he knows from many a stoned wank session. The idea of coming with Colin has him hard, so he panics and says, “Want to watch a movie or something?”

Colin just erupts, breaks into a fit of body-shaking, breathless laughter that catches like a scarf tassel in a coat zip and has Bradley doubled over, his belly aching from it. They gradually calm down, and when it doesn’t hurt to breathe anymore, Bradley looks over at Colin and is completely taken by how lovely he is with his soft lips curved into a smile and his shaggy hair falling across his forehead.

“The thing about weed,” Bradley says, his voice slow and thick in his ears. “The thing about it is that it always makes me so bloody horny.”

He’s not sure why he says it at first, watching Colin’s eyes widen. But after a moment, he remembers that it’s because all this looking at Colin has made him hard, and should Colin notice, he doesn’t want it to be weird. But he realises that he’s probably gone and _made_ things weird, and now Colin is leaning away from the armoire, getting on his hands and knees and crawling towards Bradley. His face is serious and thoughtful as he stares at Bradley.

“Really?” Colin says, semi-breathless, squinting and unsquinting like he’s trying to concentrate but can’t quite make thoughts line up correctly in his head.

Bradley shrugs and waves a hand in the general direction of his crotch, and Colin follows the motion slowly, his eyes falling and resting on the hard line pressed against Bradley’s jeans. He stares for a moment, thoughtful, then inches back to the armoire and leans against it. He doesn’t say anything, so Bradley asks again, “Movie?”

Colin ignores him. Or rather, Colin ignores the question, because he’s staring hard in the direction of Bradley’s crotch, and Bradley thinks he’s made things irreparably awkward. He acts unbothered, like he doesn’t even notice Colin’s looking, like it doesn’t get him that much more on edge to have Colin’s attention on his cock, for whatever reason. He closes his eyes, leans his head back on the bed and imagines Colin crawling back over to him, thumbing open the button on his trousers and licking wet kisses against his neck.

Colin doesn’t say anything, so Bradley digs deeper with the fantasy, gets Colin naked and writhing, his quaint little dick bouncing against Bradley’s nose as he sucks at the skin behind Colin’s balls. But Bradley doesn’t know how he’d taste there, how he’d smell, and he starts all over again in his mind, this time fucking Colin from behind with his nose buried in Colin’s hair. He knows what that smells like, and the thought of it makes him groan. The sound of his own voice knocks him out of his fantasy, and he realises he’s been shifting his hips, trying to find friction against the hard barrier of his jeans.

He chances a peek at Colin, hoping he hasn’t noticed, but now Colin is wide-eyed and open-lipped and staring at him, and Bradley would be blushing if his face weren’t already hot from the image of Colin under him. But then Colin says—whispers, really, almost too low for Bradley to hear: “I think weed does it to me too.”

Bradley can’t quite remember what he’s referring to until he _does_ , sudden and suffocating, and he just fucking prays that Colin will get those baggy jeans out of the way so Bradley can see it for himself. “Yeah?” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound too interested.

Colin nods and leans his shoulders against the armoire, lifting his hips so that his trousers catch tight against his body, and … and oh, holy _fuck_ , there is nothing little about Colin’s dick, and Bradley has to amend all of his fantasies to account for the giant fucking bulge being offered up for his appraisal.

Bradley takes a chance, because this is unusual, and because Colin will just laugh if he’s wrong about this, and then he’ll laugh too, and it’ll become a joke they’ll never, ever talk about again. This is the only time this won’t be weird, so Bradley wipes his mouth and swallows a mouthful of saliva and says, “You, er ….” Colin slides down the armoire and falls onto his back, shirt riding high and his hip bones showing, the outline of his massive cock obvious, and Bradley has to start again.

“You want some help?” he says, and Colin lolls his head to the side, eyes glassy and nostrils flared. “With that?” Bradley gestures vaguely in the direction of Colin’s crotch and Colin nods, the movement slow and shy.

And Bradley thinks he should be slow and shy too, but he can’t manage anything but hungry and desperate as he crawls across the floor and tears at Colin’s fly, pulling his trousers and pants clean off of him because he wants to lie down between his legs and make a fucking day of it. Colin gasps and laughs, and Bradley forgets to take a moment to just look at him, licking up Colin’s cock and sucking it in before his brain catches up with what he’s doing.

“Jesus,” Colin says in amongst his hitching laughter. “You’re really doing that.”

Bradley tries to remember the things he likes when girls go down on him, but he couldn’t plot this out if he tried. He shoves his hands up under Colin’s shirt, and Colin groans, starts thrusting up into Bradley’s mouth. Bradley wants to not have teeth anymore, for his mouth to be expansive and eternal, wants enough space to suck up every inch of Colin, whose voice has broken into frantic moans. Bradley thinks Colin probably would have come by now if he weren’t so fucked up, but he is so fucked up, and this is taking forever.

“Ugh, my back is sore,” Colin whines, still fucking up into Bradley’s mouth as though his body and mind are on different planes. “I need ....”

Colin never quite gets around to saying what he needs, and Bradley realises his hip bones hurt from pressing hard into the floor. He pulls off of Colin and has a what-the-fuck moment as it occurs to him he’s just been mouth-fucked by Colin Morgan. He’s having second thoughts about continuing this whole fucked-up mess, but then Colin reaches his arms out, and Bradley can’t resist him even a little bit with those lips he hasn’t tasted yet but maybe will be allowed.

He hauls Colin up and shoves him over onto the bed, taking a moment to get his T-shirt off. “You have to take my socks off too,” Colin slurs. “You look stupid if you’re naked but have socks on.”

So Bradley leans down and pulls off Colin’s socks and takes that moment he forgot before to stare at him. He looks a bit ridiculous half on the bed, his legs drooping onto the floor, and Bradley shoves him higher up into his bed— _into his bed_. He’s about to climb up between Colin’s legs and get back to sucking his cock, but then Colin twists onto his side and then flops onto his belly, his limbs stretched out in all directions.

“I think I’m tired,” Colin says, his voice muffled against the duvet. “I’m just gonna take a little nap.”

That is utterly unacceptable for some reason that’s very rational, Bradley is certain, and he climbs up onto the bed between Colin’s legs, intending to flip him over, but getting tangled and confused because he’s sitting between Colin’s legs and can’t get the one to bend the right way. He gives up and shoves at Colin’s thigh, liking the feel of it. He massages his hands up Colin’s legs, daring to squeeze his arse, and Colin murmurs something that sounds affirmative, so Bradley squeezes harder.

“Weed makes you sleepy,” Bradley says, thumbs pulling along inner thigh skin he knows is sensitive. “And it makes you stupid and giggly and it gives you the munchies.”

Colin just sighs, and Bradley wants him awake and orgasming, and then his thumb brushes too high and catches against Colin’s arsehole, which is humiliating for the two seconds it takes him to realise it made Colin moan.

“You may be sleepy,” Bradley says, watching as he spreads Colin open, “but I’ve got the munchies, and I’m going to eat your arse.”

Colin erupts into laughter, and Bradley realises that there is absolutely nothing hot about what he’s just said, but he doesn’t angst about it, because truth be told, he sort of forgets he said anything at all as he leans forward and licks across Colin’s hole.

Colin stops laughing instantly, going very still, and Bradley thinks he isn’t breathing. Bradley isn’t really breathing himself as he realises he’s just licked Colin Morgan’s arsehole without asking or even bothering to fucking clean it first. But then Colin is trembling, and Bradley realises he _wants_ it, and all other thoughts disappear as he licks harder against Colin, wanting to make him fall apart.

And he does—or at least, he thinks he does. He gets Colin wet and whimpering, grinding his hips against the bed, and Bradley thinks he might have to add “eating arse” to the list of qualifications on his CV. He pulls Colin up onto his knees to get a better angle and then gets completely distracted by the heavy cock hanging between his legs, swinging as Colin thrusts back against Bradley’s face.

He’s briefly tempted to say something stupid like “Dat cock” and he has enough self-control not to say it, but not enough, apparently, to keep from laughing about it. Colin whines at him, which makes something hot coil up in Bradley, knowing that he’s made Colin petulant with need.

“How about you fuck me?” Bradley says just before thrusting his tongue hard against Colin’s hole, pushing in.

Colin is gasping and writhing and doesn’t seem keen on answering the question, so Bradley pulls away and tries again. “Your cock. My arse. Want to?”

Colin sighs thoughtfully, then looks over his shoulder, and Bradley feels suddenly indecent with his face buried in Colin’s arse, so he sits up. “Can’t fuck you in clothes,” Colin says simply, and Bradley takes that as encouragement.

He lies back on the bed, not trusting his own coordination enough to undress whilst standing upright. He’s clumsy with want and terror, but he ignores the second part, because _Colin’s cock_. All his clothes are off before he realises he’s even started undressing, and he slides up the bed, lying next to Colin, who’s still on all fours. Colin moves to crouch between his legs and stares down at him, and he’s red from his ears to his chest, fingers slow where they play at Bradley’s thighs.

“We’ll need ... stuff,” Colin says, nodding sagely. “You know, that ... that ... wet stuff.”

“Yeah,” Bradley agrees, and he knows it’s around here somewhere. He tries the night table and is rewarded with his embarrassingly giant half-empty bottle of Durex.

Colin falls into hysterics again, leaning his forehead against Bradley’s knee as he laughs, unable to do much more than point at the lube and wheeze. Bradley takes matters into his own hands, pouring way too much into his palm and slipping down between his legs, stuffing a finger inside and then another right after.

“Do this often?” Colin says finally, when he catches his breath.

Bradley huffs, working fingers roughly into himself, wanting to get to the part where Colin’s massive prick is in him. “I wank a lot,” he says. “Shit else to do in a hotel room.”

Colin stares at Bradley’s moving hand, his eyebrows knit and his bottom lip between his teeth. He runs his fingers through the puddle of lube Bradley spilled on his abdomen and makes Bradley gasp by shoving his hand next to Bradley’s, fingers caressing his wrist and the back of his hand as his middle finger slides down to play at Bradley’s entrance, slow and teasing in a way that makes Bradley feel completely unbalanced before he pushes the tip in. And Bradley thinks that’s it, that he’ll stop here, but he doesn’t. Colin slides in the tip of his index finger, too, then works his way in, slipping into rhythm with Bradley’s fingers, and Bradley can hardly feel the burn of the stretch through the headiness of having Colin in him.

The way they move together has Bradley coming undone, head thrown back and legs spread wide and slutty. He’ll come like this if he lets himself, which is why he pulls out and shoves Colin over, catching him off balance easily. Once he’s straddling Colin, all he can see are lips, and there isn’t a substance in the world that can keep him from leaning forward and tasting them.

Colin’s mouth tastes like _person_ , dank and tinged with weed, and Bradley knows he tastes the same. He gets lost in it, in Colin’s mouth and his hitching breath, the flutter of his pulse beneath Bradley’s thumb as he brushes it along the taut line of his neck. He forgets everything but the way his heart is pounding, the way kissing Colin makes him feel weightless and rooted both, like a helium balloon tethered to something precious. His thoughts are muddled and out of order, and he pants a surprised _fuck_ into Colin’s mouth as the tip of Colin’s cock presses against him. He leans back against it, mindless, breathless as he sinks down and takes him in, as much as he can until it feels like there isn’t any more space in his body. And then Colin takes his hips and pushes up, pushes _all_ the way in, and Bradley presses his forehead into Colin’s neck, taking in his scent in deep gasps of shock and confusion.

One of Colin’s hands is on his arse, and the other curls into his hair, pulling his head back up for a kiss, and Bradley goes, falls back into Colin as both of Colin’s hands move to his hips and begin to move him, to push him up and back down, and Bradley remembers that this is what he wanted, and it’s actually pretty brilliant once he gets past the choking surprise of it all.

He pulls back and settles his hands on either side of Colin’s head, plants his knees for leverage and begins to fuck down onto Colin, slowly at first, getting to know the feel of him, big and satisfying and new. He can’t quite get his bearings, because Colin is just so ... _here_. He’s here beneath Bradley, lips parted and eyes shut tight, chest splotchy-red under Bradley’s fingers. And Bradley realises that he wants this to be good for Colin, to ensure that even if he remembers this through a haze of regret, he won’t be able to forget the feel of it, hot and overwhelming and crushingly real.

Something breaks in Bradley and he lets out a low, embarrassingly needy moan. In a dizzying rearrangement of their bodies, Colin somehow gets Bradley face-first against the mattress, his strong hands pushing Bradley’s legs apart. Colin presses against him again, pushing inside slowly, as though there’s something particularly relishable about having Bradley like this. And then Bradley imagines having Colin splayed out before him and _gets_ it. Colin bottoms out and drops his head to Bradley’s shoulder, kissing sloppily along the skin there, and Bradley realises that Colin really wants this. They’re not just fucking because it’s fun and they’re baked and who cares. As Colin thrusts into him, sliding past his prostate, Bradley lets go, stops thinking, stops holding back, just moans into the sheets and lets Colin fuck him.

He’s nearly there, his cock grinding against the bed, but Colin gasps and bites down on his shoulder— _bites._ Bradley’s too busy considering the revelation that Colin is a biter to realise what it means until Colin pulls out. Bradley whines, because he’s so fucking close, and he just needs a little bit more, but then he feels something wet dripping down his thighs, and _oh, god_. He knows this is bad, that condoms are important and that they’re idiots for fucking without one, but having Colin’s come— _Colin’s fucking come, for fuck’s sake_ —leaking from him is obscene and so fucking hot it has Bradley on the verge of coming, imagining how it looks.

Warm breath and a low whine are the only warning, and Bradley doesn’t really understand until Colin’s lips are sliding up his inner thigh, tongue following the path of wetness back up to Bradley’s arse.

“Oh, fuck,” Bradley says, suddenly tense and _needing_ it. He doesn’t think Colin will do it, thinks he’ll stop at licking Bradley’s thighs clean. But after Colin works over one leg and then the other, he licks across Bradley’s hole, and Bradley comes. Colin’s tongue is inside him as he humps against the bed, smears his come all over the duvet, his low moans mingling with Colin’s satisfied groans as he licks himself out of Bradley’s body.

Everything gets quiet in Bradley’s head, and he just barely registers passing out, his body giving up and demanding something Bradley doesn’t want to give. When he comes to, Colin’s hands are spreading Bradley’s arse, tongue reaching deep into him, licking and sucking and letting out deep sounds of appreciation. He only stops when Bradley squirms, legs aching and front sticky with his own mess. When Colin pulls away, Bradley rolls slowly onto his back, head spinning a bit. He looks down at Colin, at his red, swollen lips, the slickness around his mouth, his glassy eyes. He might even be ugly right now if he weren’t so perfect, and Bradley reaches out to him, wanting him close.

Colin’s dick drags along Bradley’s leg as he moves; he’s hard again. Bradley doesn’t really think about it, just grabs Colin’s arse and pulls him higher, sucks Colin’s cock into his mouth again and relaxes, content to let Colin fuck into him again until Bradley can find out for himself what Colin’s come tastes like. Somehow gripping Colin’s arse turns into plunging into it with two lubed fingers, urging him along as he fucks Bradley’s face, quiet now, eyes closed in concentration, and Bradley hopes this won’t be the last time he has Colin riding him.

When Colin comes this time, it’s more a leak than a flood, but it’s bitter and wet and just right, and Bradley swallows him down, because it’s not like they haven’t already risked this. Colin slumps onto the bed, and Bradley watches his chest heave, sees exhaustion creep across his features, and he wants to just curl around him and sleep.

“Ugh, it smells like old weed in here,” Colin grumbles, and Bradley feels disappointment settle low in his belly, because this is Colin’s way of leaving.

“Yeah, thanks, Katie,” is Bradley’s ever-so-aloof response.

Colin runs a hand through his hair and then winces. “I need a shower.”

“Me too,” Bradley says, clenching his arse experimentally, and when nothing leaks out, he _remembers_ with a heat that must show on his face.

Colin rolls off the bed and starts sifting through clothing, slipping on the pieces that belong to him, and Bradley feels stupid for staying naked, but thinks he’d feel even more stupid for getting dressed like he has somewhere to be.

“Come shower in mine,” Colin says, his voice even and casual in a way that has Bradley’s stomach seizing up. “Open the windows and let this place air out, yeah?”

Bradley has a pair of jogging bottoms on before Colin’s found his left sock, which he seems to have deemed lost, since, in the end, they leave without it.

The cool, fresh air of the hallway shocks Bradley’s brain awake, and he sees Katie and Angel sitting in the hallway, a bag of crisps spilling out onto the floor between them. Angel appears to be fast asleep, her head tilted back against the wall and her mouth drooping open, and Katie just stares up at them with a look on her face that Bradley can only think seems _alarmed_. Colin bursts into laughter again, and Bradley has to help him with the key to his room, because Katie just keeps staring, and Bradley has come drying on his belly, and this is no time for Colin’s sick sense of humour.

He pushes Colin inside and goes to start the shower, leaving Colin to collect himself and realise that Katie most likely heard all manner of uncouth _things_ from them, which means they’ll hear the end of it approximately never.

Bradley manages to get his hair lathered with shampoo that smells like Colin, and then Colin climbs in with him, which Bradley didn’t expect, but being honest, he left the bathroom door unlocked for a reason.

Bradley isn’t even high anymore, but he can’t figure out how to shower anyway, because even though they’ve just fucked, Colin’s hands are everywhere, slipping low under the pretext of helping Bradley wash. Bradley tries to soap Colin up and gets as far as his armpits before he kneels down between Bradley’s legs. He mumbles something about shampoo, which Bradley diligently puts into his hair and promptly forgets about when Colin’s tongue slips beneath the head of his half-hard cock, his lips following soon after.

Bradley isn’t aware of much outside of trying not to slip and brain himself while Colin’s stupid, gorgeous mouth is around him. He considers warning Colin when he’s almost there, but the horny, fucked-up part of his brain that’s in charge wants to fill that cock-hungry mouth with come. Colin doesn’t complain, just sucks him down enthusiastically as Bradley grips his hair—still slick with abandoned shampoo—and tries to keep his knees from buckling.

The rest of the shower is a sort of confused jumble of exhausted limbs and soap as sleep asserts itself as the primary need. Colin thrusts his toothbrush at Bradley, who accepts it like a gift from the gods. An obscene amount of toothpaste and pulled faces in the mirror later, Colin is shoving Bradley back into the room, steering him towards the bed.

When his head hits the pillow, Bradley realises there’s still shampoo in his hair, but when Colin curls an arm around his chest and presses his cold nose into Bradley’s neck, Bradley decides he has absolutely zero fucks to give.


End file.
